


魔女物語 - Witch Tale

by HouseofSannae



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: A Bite In The Dark - AU, Actually using my philosophy degree for something, Alternate Universe, And I should probably apologize to Terry Pratchett while I'm at it, Cat-shifter Xion, F/F, H. P. Lovecraft gets no apology, POV First Person, Witch Namine, With apologies to NISIOISIN, he knows what he did
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:01:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24284044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HouseofSannae/pseuds/HouseofSannae
Summary: There are things that go bump in the night. Things that must be kept away from that which is. Things that someone needs to stand up to, and say, "I can't be having with this. Not on my patch."So, who're you gonna call?That's right.You call a witch.
Relationships: Naminé/Xion (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 26





	1. 001

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jeredu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeredu/gifts), [talconhiro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/talconhiro/gifts).



My name is Naminé, and I’m a witch.

No, no, I’m not disparaging myself, I’m stating a fact.

I’m a witch.

It’s my job.

Well. Side job. Kind of. Sort of. You could argue the thing I do that I actually make enough money to live on from is the “side” job.

Being a witch is the more important of them.

And yes, I know what you’re thinking. No, no my skin is not green, I don’t generally wear black outside of formal occasions, and it’s rude to ask a girl if she has warts. Don’t do that.

I do have a hat. And a cat.

No broomstick, though, I use a Roomba. And no, it’s not big enough to ride.

I’m a little bit scared of heights, anyways.

I live in a housing complex in the middle of the city, not a hut in the middle of the woods or some dreary, abandoned castle. My apartment is comfortable, affordable. I live alone.

Ish.

Sort of.

I’m saying that a lot, aren’t I?

Uh.

Better to start from the beginning. I’m sure you’re wondering if I do typical “witchy” things, like brewing potions, putting children in ovens, fighting thinly-veiled Nazi allegories, and cursing. I don’t do any of that sort of thing… well… There was that one time with the campaigner from our local chapter of that big government party that knocked on my door to talk about immigrants… but I don’t brew potions, put children in any sort of kitchen appliance, or use swearwords. That’s not what witches do.

I don’t do “magic”, either. At least, not the way you’re thinking of.

Right now, I’m just drawing.

It’s a quiet day, the sun is shining, the birds are singing, and the world feels at peace.

Aside from the soft “thump” and the loud “yowl” that just came from my bedroom.

I stood up, and sighed, because I’ve heard this before and know it’s not a big issue. I walk into the bedroom and over to the laundry hamper.

I looked down into it and back at me stares the void, with bright blue eyes.

“Again?” I ask, shaking my head. “You should know better.”

There’s a loud “brrrrp!” of recognition, and the void’s eyes get a little pleading. I roll my eyes and reach into the hamper, pulling out a black cat who should really know better at this point.

This isn’t the first time she’s accidentally trapped herself in the laundry bin.

I toss her towards my bed, and she twists in midair and lands on her feet. Promptly, she fixes her fur. “Don’t I get a thank you?” I teased.

The cat looked up at me, put down her leg, and _changed_.

Where there had once been a cat, there was now a woman about my own age, with the same blue eyes and black hair as the cat. Like the cat, she was naked, but we were both used to it at this point. “Thank you, O most gracious of roommates,” she said, sticking her tongue out at me.

This is Xion.

Xion is my cat.

She’s also my girlfriend.

It’s complicated.


	2. 002

You know that single image comic of the sorcerer who’s extremely annoyed because his spell to summon a “lemon” went off perfectly? (Him being annoyed because the cursive the spell was written in made it look like he was summoning a “demon”?)

Yeah. Turns out that if you’re trying to make a new spell work, you need to make sure the stray you just adopted isn’t going to jump up on the table when you aren’t expecting it.

That’s how you accidentally turn a cat into a human.

But, that was a long time ago.

And. Uh. Long before the. Girlfriend. Thing.

That came later.

Initially, Xion was stuck in a human form. And wasn’t getting a cat adjusted to being a human fun.

It took… a while.

She still acts like a cat sometimes.

Hence the jumping into the clothes hamper.

And the nudity.

She understands that when she’s a human she needs to wear clothes, but she doesn’t like it. So we relax that rule a bit when it’s just us at home.

It’s not like I mind her being naked.

A-a-anyway, yes. She was stuck as a human for the longest time, but when you do the goddess Bastet a favour, anything (cat-related) can happen.

Gods don’t like owing favours any more than humans do, you see.

So now Xion can move between cat and human form at will, and she feels a lot more comfortable in her own skin. It’s a little bit like a video game slider – she can be more or less catlike as she chooses. Generally she prefers to either be fully-cat or fully-human to mostly-human – it’s a lot messier to be _mostly_ cat and a _little_ human. It’s not pretty.

Xion, like a lot of cats, is just a little bit vain.

You might be wondering why she was given a choice, instead of having the botched spell reversed. Well, I’m afraid it’s not that simple.

There was a 19th-century philosopher by the name of Søren Kierkegaard. A nice man, or so I’ve been lead to believe by what I’ve read, who thought a lot about states of existence. He proposed a system of what he called “spheres”, moral stances through which people move, and through them become “individuals”. First is the aesthetic, which only cares about instant gratification and the self; its chief concerns are “pleasure” and “pain”. Next is the ethical, where one has made the decision to care about your actions’ effects on others; its chief concerns are “good” and “evil”. The final sphere is the religious, where these previous concerns are tossed aside in favour of doing what God wants you to do, the chief concerns being “sin” and “grace”.

Kierkegaard was a religious man, yes.

You work with what you know.

The point of this is that once you’ve moved up from the aesthetic sphere to the ethical and through the ethical to the religious, you can’t go back without the understanding that you’re doing wrong. You can never have the pure mindset that you had when you were genuinely in the “lower” sphere.

You can’t put the djinni back in the bottle.

You can’t put the cat back in the bag.

In other words, Xion can’t ever become fully cat again. She’s moved to a new sphere of understanding as a human. It was be able to change her shape, or nothing.

She seems happy with her choice.

I am, too.


	3. 003

I’m an artist by trade, technically speaking.

I’ve had the good fortune to have some recognition and popularity.

…that’s me being humble. I’m kind of… sort of… internationally renowned.

I’ve done several murals throughout the city. I get requests from people who have quite a lot of money to burn.

Under a pseudonym, obviously.

My “professional” persona is a notorious recluse.

No one quite realizes I live in a one-bedroom apartment downtown.

The easiest way to save money is to just not spend it. Which, obviously, isn’t an option for everyone.

Like I said, I’ve had a lot of good fortune.

The pseudonym thing is a bit of a sticking point for Lea – or maybe I should say, for Axel. See, in my other main line of work, it’s smart to use a pseudonym when dealing with… um… the sort of things we deal with so that other people don’t have to. He gets nippy with me over the fact that I use the name “Naminé”. It’s out of concern.

It amuses me that he thinks “Naminé” is my real name.

Using a pseudonym may be smart, but it’s smarter to use one that _isn’t_ an anagram of your real name with an “X” stuck in it.

Save that for naming your pets.

I watched with amusement as Xion yawned and rooted around in the closet. “Every time you do that, you get stuck,” I said. “Why do you keep doing it?”

Xion snorted. “Same reason people climb mountains.”

“‘Because it’s there’?”

“Exactly. It’s fun.” She pulled out a hoodie – one of mine – and pulled it over herself.

I was mildly disappointed. “But I have to pull you out of it every time.”

She looked at me, raised an eyebrow, which was something she’d decided to try doing recently. I think it was the Star Trek reruns. “That’s half the fun, silly.”

That shut me up, and she kissed me on the cheek as she walked past. “I’ve got a stream scheduled in a bit, I should get set up.” Xion doesn’t technically have to work, being a former cat and considering how much I make, but she likes playing to a crowd.

“P-put on pants?” I sputtered, reddening.

“Nah,” she said, smirking. “The camera doesn’t go that low.” I hadn’t let her use one until she agreed to keep her clothes on. The line between “streaming” and “camming” is one that I had to spell out for her.

I wouldn’t want her to get kicked off of the website for indecent conduct.

She did sometimes turn her ears into cat ears, just a little bit. Not with the musculature she’d need to use them, so no one could tell they were real. It was a pretty popular “costume” among her fans. There was a lot of fanart of her as a catgirl floating around, without anyone knowing how accurate they were.

Only _some_ of it was my work.

“You had errands to run, right?” Xion said as she settled into the chair.

“Right, yes, I do, thanks for reminding me,” I said, going over to put my shoes on.

“You didn’t forget,” Xion said, teasing.

_You don’t forget things like that,_ she added, and I smirked. She was right. I had a routine.

It was around 3:45 PM, which meant that the schools were out. Which meant that on my walk to the store, I was going to meet Celes.

Celes is a high school student. She’s had a… troubled past couple of months, but I’ve been making sure to talk to her and give advice. I’ve encouraged her to take up painting, and I think it’s really been helping her. She’s always so excited to show me her portfolio. And the scars on her arms are fading.

I made it a point to talk to her every day. The same way I dropped by Mr. Dysley’s apartment every other week to help him clean. The same way I convinced Mr. Almasy that donating money to our local food banks was a better way to repay me for helping his son Seifer with his… illicit substance habit than giving _me_ the money.

All of this is part of being a witch. And I don’t get paid for being a witch. I can’t accept compensation for it.

Of course, if people just _give_ me things, that doesn’t count. Which is why I’m always grateful when Mrs. Cole bakes an extra loaf of banana bread for me. She understands she doesn’t have to. But she does. It’s nice.

I know you’re probably thinking being a witch is about dabbling in arcane forces beyond anyone’s comprehension, or making deals with devils and fae beings. Some of you are _definitely_ thinking it involves cavorting around naked in the woods at night. Which, I might add, it _doesn’t_.

No, 80% of witchcraft is just… being there for your community. Lending a helping hand to those in need. Taking care of the people around you.

I just might have a slightly larger definition of what counts as “people” than the average person.

Although I’ve mentioned spells, really that sort of thing is only another 10% of being a witch. And it’s usually to help people, not to hurt them. Guarding growth and easing pain, that sort of thing. If I can take away most of the pain from Mrs. Haze’s arthritis with a spell, why not do it? Small things like that, usually.

Which is why in addition to the paint I need to pick up today, I’m also going to get something else.

Every witch has a certain affinity, a certain something that all of their spells must incorporate. Kind of like a signature. For Lea, who’s been a witch longer than I have, it’s fire. He’s a pyromancer. He’s also that one guy who always has a lighter on him. That’s easy.

Our other resident witch is a man named Even, or Vexen when he’s at work. Vexen is an… odd case, since he doesn’t seem to believe that he’s a witch. But, he does the same sort of work Axel and I do. He approached it from the opposite direction, through science instead of spiritualism.

Once you know the extranatural exists, you can’t forget that knowledge.

You can’t move down the spheres.

You can’t put the djinni back in the bottle.

You can’t get the cat back in the bag.

Vexen doesn’t believe in “witchcraft” as it were, but he’s too smart not to have noticed that every tincture he makes needs to spend at least a little time frozen. Vexen’s a glaciomancer. His affinity is for ice.

As for me, I’m…

Well…

I’m a…

I’m a hemomancer.

I use blood.


	4. 004

No, no, no, not _human_ blood!

Well… under certain circumstances, sometimes it’s necessary. But only as a last resort.

And the first thing I need to establish here is that “virgin blood” doesn’t mean what you think it means. It’s not blood from “a person who is a virgin”. It means “blood that hasn’t been used in a ritual or spell before”.

Honestly.

Perverts.

But that is why the last stop on my trip today is the butcher’s shop. Mr. Minwu doesn’t “know” I’m a witch, but he’s from a place where “witchcraft”, if you want to call it that, is particularly common and where it’s understood that it’s a good thing to have a witch around in your community.

He’s made a guess, but never out loud, and I’m very grateful that he respects my privacy.

He takes a small vial of blood from every animal that passes under his knife, labels it with the date and time and species, and lets me have them free of charge. He doesn’t name the animals, obviously, since it’s kind of hard for a human to kill something they’ve named, but he makes sure I get only one from each individual.

It has to be virgin blood. Can’t use it more than once.

For the record, I’ve never used my own blood for a spell. Not because it’s dangerous or a stupid idea or anything, more because if the chips are down and I have _nothing_ left and _need_ to do a spell, my own blood is my _absolute_ last resort.

It’ll only work once, remember.

Blood has memories of its own, ask any vampire. Or, rather, don’t. Most vampires don’t take kindly to people asking them questions. I’ve met an exception or two, but they only serve to prove the rule.

Generally speaking, don’t do things that would put your life in danger.

This memory is why I can’t use it more than once. Blood remembers. Blood knows.

I don’t think there’s any sort of power inherent to it, no matter what species it’s from, but blood knows what it’s been used for.

It doesn’t like being used more than once.

I bid good day to Mr. Minwu and give him a set of blankets; his wife is expecting, and I happened to have been given a perfect set of sheets for a child’s bed by someone else. That’s what I do, pass things along. Like I said, 80% of being a witch is taking care of those around you. It’s the truly great witches that extend “those around you” to mean “the entire planet and everywhere else I can reach”.

I’m not that great.

I usually don’t reach further than this city.

Ah, and you’ve probably noticed I’ve only defined 90% of being a witch.

It’s the final 10% that I have the most trouble with.

I take a longer than usual path back home, down Church Street. It doesn’t take a lot of thought to figure out how the street got its name. There are five or six places of worship along the lane, one after another. The people in charge are generally very friendly with one another.

I’m not religious myself. Sir Terry Pratchett once claimed in one of his fictional books that for witches, believing in gods would be like a normal person believing in the mailman. Of course you acknowledge they exist, but you don’t generally give them any regard other than basic politeness and human decency.

Mr. Pratchett got a lot of things right about witches, actually.

Makes one wonder sometimes.

Regardless, it was along Church Street that I first caught a whiff of the smell.

Fish.

Fish and salt water.

Which might have been less of an issue if the nearest shoreline wasn’t miles away.

And if the smell was discernable anywhere other than within ten metres of one specific church.

I wasn’t going to say it.

There was no need to say it.


	5. 005

“So what you’re saying was, something smelled fishy around that church?” Xion asked.

I sighed. “Xion, please.”

Her stream was over and she was lounging on the couch next to me as I poked through documents on my laptop. If I stood up from the position, she would move in where I had been sitting.

This was a fact established by evidence from previous cases.

“Naaaaminé,” she said, poking a finger at my cheek.

“Xion,” I replied, still studying the documents. I was looking through the town records with the login information that I definitely wasn’t given on purpose by the mayor. I can’t accept repayment for things I might have done to help, after all. I was trying to find anything I could about that church, from all outward respects a normal, Episcopalian affair. Or possibly Anglican.

It depended on what part of the world we were in.

Sometimes things have to stay vague.

“Nyaaaaaminé,” Xion said, continuing to poke me. I ignored the cat-talk. She does that sometimes if she’s in a certain mood.

“Xion,” I replied. There didn’t seem to be anything off about that church in general, no strange goings-on, no tragedies in its past. None that were a matter of public knowledge, anyway.

“Na-mew-né,” Xion said. Her finger resolutely, if gently, pressed into my cheek.

“Xion,” I replied. If it wasn’t the church itself, then maybe something else was causing it. Something that was just using the church coincidentally.

“Mommy-né,” Xion said.

I finally looked over at her. “That’s not a cat pun.”

Xion put one hand behind her head and stuck out her tongue, with her eyes pinched shut. “ _Shitsurei,_ ” she said, “ _kamimashita_.”

“That’s a running gag from a different series!”

I knew letting her watch anime was a mistake.

“Anyway,” she said, reverting back to English. “It’s dinner time.”

That’s the thing about cats.

They never let you forget when it’s time to eat.

…Xion’s actually been a huge help to my schedule. Making sure I eat on time.

Making sure I eat.

It used to be a problem.

We make a nice, simple dinner. Xion very rarely changes to her cat form for mealtimes; in her own words, “would _you_ want to eat cat food if you had the option?” I can’t deny her point.

“So nothing was weird with the church itself, huh?” she asked, through a mouthful of ham. We’re still working on table manners.

“No,” I said. “My next avenue of investigation would be to try to figure out what could be causing it.”

“Some kind of monster or aberration or… I dunno, alien?” Xion asked.

“Perhaps,” I said, frowning into my corn.

That’s one of the other responsibilities of a witch.

The other 10%.

There are… other planes of existence.

The Dungeon Dimensions, the Upside-Down, the Warp.

Call them whatever you want.

There’s other forms of life in reality that should not – must not – mingle with ours.

Human and whatever other species that calls this world home.

It’s not a xenophobia thing, it’s necessity.

The same reason why you don’t store baking soda and vinegar in the same container.

There are some things that just aren’t compatible with our form of existence.

Witches look at these, for want of a better word, “horror-terrors”, right in the eyes or stemma or ommatidia or whatever they have, and tell them to go home.

Or Else.

The “Else” usually doesn’t have to be explained.

Everyone knows witches curse people, right?

Even things from other dimensions, apparently.

It’s all about the presence.

“I’m going to have to go check it out. Tonight,” I said, standing up from the table. We’ve both finished eating at this point. Xion passed me her plate and I put it and our utensils in the dishwasher.

“I’m coming with you,” she said, and I didn’t argue. Technically speaking, she’s my “familiar”.

This translates to “person who can actually fight if that’s necessary”.

Proportional speed and strength of a cat, if she transforms a bit.

The common housecat is the most deadly of all feline species, believe it or not.

The dishes done, we got prepared to leave. I got my hat.

It’s a real witch’s hat. It’s black, it’s got a point, it’s got a round brim, there are gold stars on it.

I bought it from a Spirit Halloween a couple years ago.

It’s a proven psychological effect that wearing certain clothes makes a person feel better about taking on certain roles. Wearing a white lab coat makes you feel more like a doctor; but it also makes a _doctor_ feel more like a doctor.

My hat makes me feel more like a witch.

Yes, it’s a costume piece.

But it’s a real witch’s hat.

Because it’s my hat, and I’m a witch.

There’s power in belief.

It takes a minute to get out the door, because Xion has dressed herself without consulting me. The black jeans are fine, the leather jacket is fine, but I draw the line at letting her go barefoot. We compromise on flip-flops, which she can easily kick off if she needs to. I say nothing about the freedom of movement from the leather jacket because I’m just happy she’s put a shirt on without a fight. She can unzip it if necessary.

With that, we set out.


	6. 006

Night had fallen by the time we got to the church. We weren’t in that much danger.

People – and by people I mean anything that thinks rationally – respect the hat.

You don’t mess with a witch at work, lest we mess back.

We _will_ tell your mom on you.

It’s no idle threat.

“I’m going in through the belfry,” Xion announced.

“Don’t break anything,” I reminded her. Like a Boy Scout. Leave no trace.

Or would we be Girl Guides?

Xion rolled her eyes, with affection, and jumped, leaving me to open the door. It’s not breaking and entering if you convince the lock to open by itself. I have a sketchbook with spell diagrams laid out in it labelled with large, block letters (to prevent the conundrum of our previously-mentioned lemon summoner). Axel prefers incantations, Vexen uses potions, I draw symbols.

I’m an artist. What else would I be doing?

I cracked open one of the vials and smeared the tiny amount of pig’s blood across the diagram. It faded without staining the page, and the door’s lock clicked open.

I stepped inside.

This was my first mistake.

The fishy smell was much stronger, all right, so we were definitely on the right track. But that wasn’t the issue.

The issue was that it wasn’t as late as I assumed it was, and someone was still in the church.

Picture this for a moment.

It’s late. You’re at your church, setting up for tomorrow’s service, and through a door that you’re _sure_ you locked comes a young woman in a partial Halloween costume.

There’s no defending this, I’m clearly the one at fault here.

“Um, hello!” I said, brightly, with a sincere smile. I’m very innocent-looking. It helps a lot in this line of work. “Please pardon the intrusion. I was just wondering if you were aware of the, um… smell?”

The woman, a red-haired lady a little older than me, blinked. “How… did you get in here?” she asked, concerned for obvious reasons.

“The door was unlocked,” I said. Which wasn’t a lie; I was able to enter because the door was unlocked at the time.

Just forget the fact that I unlocked it.

“Oh…” she said. “I thought I…”

I shrugged. “You know how it is, do something often enough you don’t notice you’ve forgotten.” I held out my hand. “I’m Naminé.”

“Refia,” she said, still bemused. I’ve found that if I make nothing out of the hat, no one questions it. As long as I don’t acknowledge it, neither does anyone else.

What witch’s hat?

Next you’re going to tell me I have a Playstation 2 on my head.

“The, um, smell, yes,” Refia said, convincing herself not to acknowledge the hat. “It’s been getting worse over the past couple of days.”

“Huh,” I said. That wasn’t good. If it was what I thought it was, that was really not good.

The ground rumbled.

We don’t generally have earthquakes in this city.

“Another one?” Refia said, shaking her head. “Something has to be wrong here, that’s the fifth time today. Right?” She looked at me for confirmation.

There hadn’t been any quakes today. And since they don’t typically happen, one, let alone five, would’ve been noticed.

That is, if they had been happening outside this church.

“Refia,” I said, calmly but with urgency, “I can’t explain why, but you need to step outside. And probably get around twenty feet away or so.” I reconsidered. “Make that fifty.”

Refia’s eyes darkened. “Excuse me?”

The ground rumbled again.

If you’re thinking “contractions”, you’re not far off.

“Out of time,” I muttered to myself.

There was a blaze of light from over by the altar. I stepped between it and Refia. “What’s going on?” she asked, very confused.

I, for my part, was concerned. “Nothing good,” I said. “Stay behind me.”

Fear is a powerful incentive to follow orders. Refia just nodded, and didn’t ask anything else.

The light was issuing from a crack. A tear. A rip in space.

Something was trying to Get In.

Obviously, nothing good.

I turned back to Refia. “Close your eyes. No matter what you do, no matter what you hear, don’t open them until I tell you to.”

You can’t put the djinni back in the bottle.

You can’t get the cat back in the bag.

You can’t move back through the spheres.

You can’t forget the extranatural exists.

If I could spare her that, more than necessary–

But it was too late.

Something was coming through.


	7. 007

There’s a video going round the Internet of a frog. The video has been sent through a Moogle software named Deep Dream, which looks for patterns in a given, digital picture, then overlays that picture with others that it considers a “close enough” match. The frog in this video has been overlaid with pictures of other animals, mostly dogs, and, for a couple of frames, a bus. The resulting video is, quite frankly, “mind-bending”, as your brain tries to process what it’s seeing. The frog has far too many eyes, and even the floor it’s moving across is horribly distorted. A commentator under the video compared it to the works of notable racist Howard Lovecraft.

And it’s not an un-apt description.

The thing that stepped through the crack was a hominid. And that’s all I can say for certain about it. My brain, and presumably Refia’s as well, tried to figure out what we were looking at, in a process not unlike Moogle Deep Dream. I saw flashes of people’s faces, with no rhyme or reason to them; it’s a hominid, said my brain. It has to have a hominid’s face.

Except no, it didn’t have to.

Hominid bodies generally aren’t covered in faces.

Way too many eyes.

Not all of them human.

Not all of them organic.

I think I saw a Zaku at one point.

Lions and tigers and bears.

Oh my.

Sorry, that was bad.

The thing from another world looked at us, and tilted its head.

I turned to Refia. “Stay behind me. No matter what happens.”

“What… what do we do?” she whispered. Scared out of her head, most likely.

I know I was.

“You? You kneel down, eyes closed, and pray,” I said.

“Pray?” she asked, shocked. “What good’s that going to–?”

“There is power,” I said, calmly despite the circumstances, “in belief. If this thing exists, then certainly your God does, too, right?” I smiled. “Pray for our protection.”

It would help. There’s power in believing. Refia, confused and frightened, nevertheless nodded, and set to her task. I straightened up and turned to the figure.

The other 10% of being a witch. Telling that which does not belong in your world to go home.

It takes strength of self.

It takes powerful will.

It takes strong belief in yourself.

It’s the part I’m the worst at.

“Excuse me,” I said, in a voice braver than I actually felt. “My name is Naminé. You are intruding here. I ask, with greatest respect, that you return from whence you came.” It was always important to be polite.

Even if no one ever actually says “whence” in a serious context anymore.

The figure – wait.

No, that one deserves a capital.

The Figure tilted its head backwards and stepped forwards.

“If you force my hand,” I said, trying not to breathe too fast, “I will have to send you back by force. I would rather not do that.” Assuming I could.

No, no. That’s not an acceptable way to think right now.

I could.

I had to believe I could.

Otherwise we were screwed.

The world might not be in danger. There are a lot of other witches.

But right here, right now, there was a chance to send the Figure away with no casualties.

The Figure took another step forwards.

“I’m telling you that you need to leave!” I said, in what I hoped was a commanding voice. The Figure was close enough to touch now.

Slowly, it reached out an arm-claw-manipulator-leg-limb towards me–

There was a loud crack. The Figure stumbled to the side, caught off-guard.

Next to it stood a different figure, very familiar to me.

Xion stood there, with fully emotive cat ears, sharp fangs in her mouth, ovoid pupils, sharp nails on her hands, and a light patterning of hair on her body, no thicker than a hirsute man’s: mostly human, partially cat. She’d grabbed one of the tall, wrought-iron candle stands that stood beside the pews, and had hit the Figure over the head with it. Belief was important; everyone knows iron hurts the extranatural, even something no one’s seen before. She was outlined in the bright light, her flip-flops long gone, her jacket open – and I saw that she’d distracted me on purpose with the flip-flops. She wasn’t wearing a shirt or bra under the jacket. I had never felt more gay in my life than I did right at that moment.

There comes a point where I have to wonder if I should consider myself a furry.

“Hey, Naminé,” she said, with a little bit of difficulty due to the fangs. “Sorry I’m late. We going to get rid of this thing or what?”

“I’ve got this,” I said, in a voice that sounded more confident than I actually was.

One thing I love about Xion. She can always tell when I’m faking it. She stepped over and took my free hand. “Hey,” she said again, closer this time, in my ear. “Remember, if you can’t believe in yourself, believe in me. Because _I_ believe in you.”

The power of love, Huey Lewis says, is a curious thing. So is belief.

There’s power in just believing.

No matter who’s doing that believing.

And I believe in Xion with all my heart.

She feels the same way about me.

The Figure straightened up, and I moved to stand between it, and Xion and Refia. “Last warning,” I commanded. “ _Get out of my church_.”

It was mine in the sense that it stood in this city, which was mine, and this city was in the world, which was mine.

It was mine, and it was under my protection.

I still wouldn’t call myself a _great_ witch.

The Figure stopped, and seemed to focus on me for the first time. Being stared down by an organism made entirely of eyes (according to my brain) was a new experience, but I matched that stare as much as I could.

And it stepped back.

And I stepped forwards.

And it continued to step back.

And I continued to step forwards.

It backed up all the way to the altar, and back through the hole it had torn in reality.

Which closed.

I didn’t do it.

Remember whose house we were in.

Prayer tends to get noticed.

The light faded, the earthquaking stopped, and the fishy smell faded.

It was over.

The only sound still remaining was Refia’s voice, still speaking quietly in supplication. I motioned for Xion to zip her coat up, and begrudgingly, she complied, going back to fully human in the process.

“Miss Refia,” I said, gently, touching her shoulder. “It’s okay. It’s gone.”

She stopped abruptly, and opened her eyes slowly. “What… was that?” she asked, in shock.

“It might be better for you to think of this all as a bad dream,” I said, still gently. “Know that it’s handled. Know that you helped. Know that it shouldn’t happen again, but if it does, I’ll be right there to stop it again.” I smiled at her.

Refia still looked shell-shocked, but nodded. Xion and I helped her set the church back up to how it needed to be for the next morning, and we walked her home; she didn’t live that far off.

We returned to our apartment and I collapsed on the couch. Xion opened her jacket back up again, but didn’t take it off. “I’m sitting on the couch,” she said, before actually moving to do so.

Cat instincts.

You “brrrp” before you jump up on the couch.

It’s only polite.

I waved her over and she sat down next to me, arms wrapped around me.

Things like this take a toll out of me. It’s not a “magic” thing, it’s a “I’m not that good at self-confidence” thing. I’m getting better at it than I used to be.

Xion is helping.


	8. 008

The epilogue, or maybe the punchline.

The next morning I woke up to Xion making pancakes. She’s managed to put a single article of clothing on.

Of course it’s an apron.

Why wouldn’t it be?

She had also sprouted her cat ears. She loses half an inch or so of height when she does that, more the more catlike she gets, but she doesn’t mind.

I don’t mind being taller than her, either (her normal human body is the exact same height as me).

There are worse things to wake up to than a catgirl in nothing but an apron making you pancakes.

Have I mentioned I’m gay recently?

“Morning, Nam-Nams!” Xion calls, beaming and turning off the girdle. She scoops the last of the pancakes onto a plate and sticks them in the microwave. “Now, do you want breakfast, a bath, or…” she leans back against the table in a way that emphasises how thin the apron is, and winks, “ _me_ -eeeeeeow!”

What, that?

That’s the sound of me pinning her to the table.

Like I said.

I don’t exactly mind being taller than her.

Breakfast could be reheated.

And it’s best to shower _after_ what we were about to do.

I love my life.

**Author's Note:**

> "Uh, Sannae?" you say. "What's this?"  
> This, dear readers, was written a couple months ago for a friend's AU. If this intrigues you, I suggest you go check out talconhiro's [Destiny Inc Investigations](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21266099/chapters/50633027) for what the Destiny Trio is up to (and a few others as well). I wouldn't normally have shared this fic, but it was requested that I do so, so I hope you enjoyed it as well.  
> This fic is written in my best attempt at mimicking the style of NISIOISIN's Monogatari series (Bakemonogatari, Nisemonogatari, etc); specifically the novels, which I was reading at the time. They're quite good. That's why it's written in the first person, which I usually detest (which is why this is is probably the only time you'll see me do it.) That's also why Xion steals Mayoi Hachikuji's running gag (Sorry, slip of the tongue).  
> You know how I love my Final Fantasy cameos, so we have a major appearance by Refia of FF3, and mentions of Celes Chere (FF6), Galenth Dysley (FF13), Seifer Almasy (FF8), Rachel (FF6, she's Locke Cole's dying girlfriend who is not dead here), Minwu (FF2), and Mrs. Cid (FF3, wife of Cid Haze).  
> This fic also features me flexing a little: All the Kierkegaard stuff? That's real. Those are some of the actual theories he posited. I'm very glad I kept my college textbooks.  
> The video Naminé talks about can be seen [here](https://chroniclesoflunacy.tumblr.com/post/614271553000046592/elmofongo-madlyinlov3-brosif40). The lemon-summoner comic is also real, but I'm not willing to track it down myself. :P  
> I think that's about everything, our regularly scheduled NortFight will be coming on Friday as planned. Until then!


End file.
